Drifting
by finmagik
Summary: Stanley Pines is kicked out of his house, alone for the first time in his life, he turns to treasure hunting. When that's a bust, he does what he was doing before he got kicked out hustling. When he runs into a skinny punk called Rick Sanchez, it's the start of a beautiful... no... horrible...no beautiful... well it's the start of something.
1. Chapter 1

Stanley spent the first night away from home, crying himself to sleep in the backseat of his car. Not that he'd ever admit this to anyone, under torture. He woke up feeling worse: tired, hungry, and sore . There were ways he could make money, treasure hunting for one, he was sure there must pirate gold just waiting for him under the sandy surface of the beach. He could turn tricks, like before, but he wouldn't because he'd be strike it rich, he knew he would never have to do that again. He stretched as much as he could, got out the safety razor from his bag and the soap, lathered, shaved, applied deodorant and exited out the car creakily. Down the street he'd spotted a diner, a greasy chrome thing called Rita's.

Standing outside the diner was a tall skinny punk, about his age, with black messed up hair, and a unibrow, he wore a black studded leather jacket, a white band t-shirt, jeans and boots. He was shaking like a junkie. As Stan walked by The guy called out: "H-hey hey, you! Ya got a light?"

"Yeah."

Stan dug his zippo out of his pocket and flicked it. The Skinny guy got his shaking hands to stay still enough to hold a cig near his mouth and held it up for Stan to light it.

"T-t-thanks, I'm comin' down from some real-real crazy stuff.." Said the skinny punk and inhaled.

"Don't mention it," Stan muttered as he walked by into the diner.

He was ravenously hungry as he sat down at a booth. When the waitress came over he ordered: pancakes, a Denver omelet, a side of bacon, hash and home fries. He knew he couldn't pay for this feast, and wasn't planning on it. He was pretty nervous about it and despite the diner's aircon was starting to sweat as he fidgeted with some sugar packets. He'd never been able to pull off a dine and dash really, he always got caught. The plates hit the table and the skinny punk from outside took a seat across from him and helped himself to some of the bacon.

"Hey, back off that's my bacon!" Stan shouted.

The skinny punk shrugged and mumbled: "hey, chill out, it's just bacon, ya know. Besides, I'll pay for the meal."

"I can pay for my own meal," Stan grumbled.

"No, you can't you were planning on a dine and dash." Said the Skinny punk, who then shoveled some home fries into his mouth.

"Fine, you're right, but leave some for me." Stan said. "What's yer name anyways?"

The skinny punk looked up from his food. "Rick Sanchez."

"I'm Stanley Pines and thanks," Stan offering his hand, Rick just stared at it and went back to eating bacon. Eventually Stan let his hand fall.

The waitress came over to refresh his water. "Anything I can do for you two?" She asked she was non-plussed that Rick had joined him and was scarfing the bacon.

"Yeah, get a plate for this guy," Stan said, pointing at Rick.

"Also could ya give us some extra syrup?" Rick added.

"Sure thing boys," said the waitress.

Stan ate the waitress returned with a plate, silverware and a pitcher of pancake syrup.

"Gracias," Rick said taking it. He then took two pancakes half the omelet, most of the hash and most of the home fries.

"Hey, ya gonna leave any more me?" Stan asked.

"I'm paying for it," Rick replied. He spilled a little syrup on the pancake and devoured it.

Stan ate his food with a scowl. "Why'd you get the syrup if you aren't using it?"

"Cuz I like fluffy discs with a little syrup, I don't like soggy ones." Rick said.

"Yeah me too," Stan said and his expression began to lighten.

After the pancake was devoured Rick dumped the rest of the syrup on his plate and devoured the rest of greasy breakfast, swimming in a greasy sweet soup.

They ate in relative silence. When it was over and the waitress brought over the check, Rick took it with a smile. He raised his unibrow as he examined it. Then took a roll of money from the pocket of his leather jacket's pocket. Stan's eyes went wide, but he said nothing. Rick peeled off a twenty and paid for it, then peeled off a few more dollars for a tip. He was still gaping at wad of cash. Then Rick caught his eye, there was knowing in that glance, an understanding. Rick had gotten the cash the same way Stan got his money: hustling. Stan didn't consider what did real prostitution, he never let them fuck his ass, also he was 60% sure he, Stanley Pines, was actually straight.

"See ya round Stan," Rick said.

"Uh, sure." Stan said.

He was pretty sure he wasn't going to see that skinny punk anymore.

Because today he'd strike it rich, treasure hunting. He got his trusty metal detector and took to the beach. Spent the whole day under the searing summer heat and got well… no gold. Just a lot of other junk. He didn't want to spend another night sleeping in the Stanleymobile. So back to hitting the docks to turn some tricks. He managed to find a few willing perverts among the crusty old sailors that hung around. The money he got from giving them hand jobs and also picking a few pockets wasn't much. But it did give him a room at the blue moon a one story fleabag motel nearby.

The blue moon was low slung concrete building: white with blue trim,an L shape that bordered a parking lot. A blue flickering neon sign able the parking lot, advertised the name of the motel and that there were vacancies. The clerk at the desk was an old blowzy woman who sighed when Stan handed her money. She took a brass key off the rack in back of the desk and handed it to him, the blue key fob said: 14 Stan made his way down the parking lot, squinting in the orange light cast by the street lights at the numbered doors. Fourteen was the last on far corner, right next to twelve, whoever numbered these rooms was superstitious. The curtained window of twelve was alight and Stan could hear music coming through. He shrugged, turned the key in the lock and opened the door to his own room. In the dim light from outside, he found the light switch and turned it on. Then wished he hadn't.

The wallpaper was was a bright blue with a pattern of yellow stars and moons. The carpet was yellow and stained. The bedspread on the double bed matched, there was tv facing the bed next to that was a particle board desk with a yellow chair on the desk rested a faux gold lamp. There was painting above the bed of a cheap print of you guessed it: starry night. He could hear the music coming from number 12 cleared now: loudly hammering through the thin walls. Also underneath it some kind of rhythmic whirr and bang. Maybe the other tenant would get bored of his music in a little while.

There was a closet in the back of motel near the bathroom, the hangers of course where the kind you couldn't steal, solid plastic rings. The bathroom…was in harvest gold and neon blue. Somewhere they'd gotten a half-moon shaped mirror, with blue trim.

The walls were painted harvest gold, the combination tub shower was harvest gold as well. The shower curtain was blue. He stripped off his clothes, turned on the shower and slipped under the water. The sound of the running water drowned out the noise from number 12, for now. The hot water running over his tired body felt welcome and comforting. He would have stayed in there longer, if it wasn't for the silverfish that scampered across the wall, startling him out of his dream with a yelp of surprise. He was out of there and drying himself off with motel towels quicker than anything.

If anything the music had gotten louder, the walls of his hotel room where shaking. Stan tired desperately to get to sleep, hiding under the blankets, pillows over his head. Nothing worked, as desperation turned to frustration, and then anger. He'd get that fucker to turn off his shitty music if was the last thing he did. Stan was clad only his boxers, as he ventured out into the balmy June night. He knocked on the door of number 12, nothing. He growled and knocked louder. No response. He pounded on the door with the edge of his closed fist as loudly as he could. The door opened, and standing in the doorway was Rick Sanchez: clad in a undershirt and boxers, cigarette dangling from his lips, scowl on his face.

"W-W-WWWHAT!? What the fuck man, don't knock so loud?!" Rick said.

"Turn your music down, some of us are tryin' to sleep!" Stan said.

"How about I say no and you fuck off," Rick replied.

"Turn your music down or I'll make you!" Stan shouted.

Rick took a drag on his cigarette, and tossed it away. "Ha, I'd like to see you try!"

Stan balled his fist: "Oh you're asking for it!"

"Ooooh! I'm so fucking scared, I'm quaking in my boots." Rick said with a smirk.

That's when Stan's right hook hit him squarely in the chest, Stan lifted his fist prepared to hit him again. Rick countered with a low sweeping kick that knocked Stan on his a moment Stan was back on his feet, He charged Rick, head lowered and must have punched the skinny freak twice in the gut. Rick bit and scratched, his nails were sharp as needles. Stan howled in pain when the bastard Rick, had Stan's ear in his teeth. Stan pulled his head back and rubbed his ear. That's when Rick began to laugh like madman, then with a flying leap he tackled Stan hard they tumbled onto the pavement. Stan got in a few kicks and punches when Rick flipped him and put him a headlock. Stan was on his knees he could feel the other man's hot breath in his ear. Blood or sweat trickled down his forehead. His left arm was free and punched the back of the skinny asshole's knee. He did this about three times and was released. He got to his feet quickly they squared off in the dim orange light of the parking lot. Rick was bloody, but grinning from ear to ear. Stan's blood was up he could feel his heart pound in his chest, he felt more alive than he had in months.

He stared at his opponent. "You gonna quit?"

"No," Rick said. "T-t-this is fun isn't it?"

"You get off on getting the shit kicked out of you?" Stan asked fist up ready for Rick's next move.

"HAHA, do you?" Rick asked.

They lunged: some the punches they threw landed some were dodged. It did feel good, Stan and to admit. But was Rick getting out of this other than a split lip and a black eye. There was something about that cocky smirk, that know-it-all attitude and tousled hair that sparked him, like gasoline touching a match. In the heat of it, They were back in Rick's room. it was like being inside a robot's heart. There were devices and machines, all going, lights blinking, and tanks with odd occupants, above it all Patti Smith singing about Land, like a hammer in Stan's head. Rick was looking up at him from the floor, getting to his feet.

"Whoa." Stan exclaimed.

"Ya see, Stan I'm working on something bigger than you and bigger then me." Rick said. "So ya know, If I need my music LOUD it helps me work."

Rick was now holding a bottle of cheap whiskey, he took a belt from the bottle and offered it to Stan. Stan took the bottle and drank, it burned going down and Stan choked, sputtered and coughed.

"Pussy," Rick said with a laugh.

"I'll show you!" Stan said the whiskey warming him and whispering to him darkly…

He strode forward ready to knock some teeth from that fucking mouth. When Rick closed the distance, kissing Stan. A declaration of war. A violent bloody kiss, with teeth and tongue, Rick tasted like cigarettes booze and vomit Stan was no homo, but fuck that was hot and now he raging hard on. He pushed Rick away.

"WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!" Stan shouted.

"Whatcha gonna do, huh?" Rick asked teasingly.

Stan grinned and pushed him onto the unmade bed.

"This." Stan remarked, and he turned the skinnier man over deftly. It wasn't like he hadn't fucked a guy before but usually he needed more encouragement, also usually he was getting paid for it.

He pulled down Rick's boxers, and then did away with own underwear. He grabbed Rick by the hips. He hesitated for a moment, shouldn't they have lube or something.

"We gonna fuck?" Rick asked. "Or will you puss out on this too?"'

That's when he thrust into the tight, hot pucker between the other man's legs. It was met with a grunt of pleasure. It felt amazing, he was riding the bastard, hard and furiously, all the anger, the sadness, was melting away into nothing. As he pumped away inside of Rick. It was over faster than, either of them would have liked. The feeling built to quickly and Stan came with torrent of cursing. He laid down on the bed next to the unimpressed Rick.

"Hahahaa… That was…"

"..It?"

"Well, It's been a while…"

"Yeah, I need to get off, Stan."

"Give me a few minutes. We'll do it again."

"No."

And that's when he felt Rick's thin fingers close around his cock and he laughed, that had only been round one.


	2. Chapter 2

Stan woke up that morning in Rick's bed. The other man's warm body tangled over him, boney and heavy. He was sort of grateful for that, the motel's air conditioning made him feel like he was in the arctic. As he lay there his mind wandered backwards three years ago, he was fifteen and had just started this very profitable side-line on the docks.

"Are you crazy?!" Ford shouted when Stan opened up and told him where the extra cash had been coming from.

"Hey keep your voice down." Stan said.

"Are you crazy," Ford repeated softer but still pretty incredulous.

"Look, it's not a big deal, I'm not actually hooking, I never let them fuck me in the ass," Stan said.

Ford shook his head. "That's not what worries me. You could get some VD or worse, end up dead."

"I have this," Stan pulled a switchblade from his back pocket and showed it to Ford. "I can take care of myself. As for gettin' VD that ain't happenin' I check 'em they're clean."

Then he put it back.

"Don't you have any sense of shame or dignity? It's disgusting and demeaning, Stan." Ford said.

"Look, it's my body, I can do what I want with it, and as I said I never let 'em fuck my ass." Stan said. "Besides some of these sailors give me really great nautical info."

Ford turned his back to Stan still shaking his head. "I know I can't reason with you."

"Yeah, promise me you won't tell Mom or Dad? They'll freak." Stan added putting a hand on his brother's shoulder.

Ford turned around, gears in his head turning, then sighed. "Fine, I won't. Just don't get hurt."

"Thanks." Stan retorted cheerfully. "High six?"

"Yeah," Ford cracked a weary smile and put up his hand, and they high six'd on it.

Ford had kept his word for nearly three years. Until three days ago that was. Stan punched his pillow, thinking about the whole thing again. Rick mumbled something in Spanish and clutched at Stan's arm. Who was this guy? And why did he have so much junk that looked like it belonged in a science fiction flick? He wonders what Ford would make of this stuff, he might be able to tell Stan what it was. Stan felt the rage and despair well up inside of him like pus in a wound. He wanted to punch something, scream and sob all at the same time. Feeling this all at once was confusing, so Stan did nothing. Rick's breathing changed. Something tapped on the glass in a tank across from the bed. Stan found himself looking at a pink, bald, tiny, wizened monkey with large bulging green eyes and a huge veiny head. It looked directly at him. It blew on the glass and drew an H-E-L-P M…Stan goggled at it.

"The monkey is a fuckin' liar. It just wants to eat your face." Rick said almost directly in Stan's ear.

Stan, startled, sat up knocking Rick off the bed. "Wha!"

"Hey, thanks, that was g-g-genius," Rick said in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

"You're the one who woke me up, knucklehead." Stan grumbled.

Rick picked himself off the floor, Stan stared at him. The guy must be 98 lbs soaking wet, he was all ribs, bones and sharp angles. Stan wondered why he'd been so horny for Rick last night.

As Rick stretched, itched and wiped drool from his chin, Stan wondered what the appeal of this guy was.

"Hey I'm not a knucklehead, I got kicked out of some of the best colleges in the country!" Rick said.

"West Coast Tech?" Stan asked.

"Yep." Rick scratched a rib and belched. "M-my fucking roommate narced on me. I was making some primo LSD in our dorm. But they were fuckin' losers. I wasn't even enrolled under my real name."

"I'm going back to my own room, I've got to shower and get the taste of cum out of my mouth I've got a big day of treasure hunting today," Stan said.

As Stan left Rick called after him, "You do know gold is a rare metal, right, Stan?!"

Stan stopped in the doorway and looked at Rick. "Then why do so many people have teeth made of it?"

"You really want me to answer that? " Rick said rolling his eyes.

"Hey there's a guy on a the corner sellin' gold watches for five dollars." Stan added, he made finger quotes "Rare' yeah right."

Rick glared at him. "Hey Stan, gullible is written on the ceiling."

"I'm NOT fallin' for that,' Stan retorted, but he looked up all the same. It wasn't gullible written on the ceiling but 'FUCK YOU'

"Son of a bitch!" Stan cursed over Rick's rising cackle.

He went back to his motel room, took a shower and brushed his teeth with the travel sized toothbrush he was sure Mom had packed. The whirring noise and the chugging of machinery from the next room could be heard through the wall. He didn't have enough for real breakfast, just coffee from Rita's. Where he pointedly ignored Rick.

Then out to the beach for more treasure hunting, he spent the whole day searching the sand with his trusty metal detector and got about $4.50 in change. It was enough for some food, but not another night at the motel. So he had to hit the docks again. It was a slow night until, Hagar spotted him. Hagar was his nickname for the longshoreman who was one his regulars. It wasn't the guy's real name. It was just that the man was horrible: huge, ginger, smelly with an unkempt beard. He usually got a handie.

"Hey, kid you wanna cig?" Hagar said. He always danced around the subject of sex, this was an opening.

Stan sighed and looked at the man, he noticed the wedding ring, gleaming on one of Hagar's red sausage like fingers, so the asshole was married? "Yeah sure."

They ducked into an alleyway.

"Suck me off," Hagar demanded. "I wanna treat myself."

"Alright, It'll cost you extra," Stan sighed again, dreading the prospect.

He got on his knees in the alleyway as Hagar unzipped revealing a matted nest of pubic hair, and a turgid, ruddy penis. If the rest of him already stank, Hagar's genitals were worse, they stank of sweat, yeast and piss. Stan closed his eyes, held his breath and began to suck on Hagar's tallywacker, which wasn't even erect yet. It took forever for that to happen and a lot of work on Stan's part. The taste was the worst, or maybe it was the smell, or the fact he was being gagged by the asshole's wang, he couldn't decide. Then Hagar stopped being passive and letting it happen, he grabbed Stan's head and started thrusting into Stan's throat, while grunting like a pig. Stan could hardly breath, but he managed, though it was taking forever, he was drenched in funk and ball sweat. When with a weird cry Hagar came in his mouth. Stan decided that the taste of Hagar's jizzz was the worst thing ever, rancid, bitter, and curdled in his mouth. As Stan puked it on ground, the bastard took a grimy twenty out of his wallet. Stan held out his hand and Hagar placed it down.

"You got a good mouth on you, kiddo." Hagar remarked.

"Uhh, thanks." Stan replied, trying to keep his disgust down.

Hagar patted him on the head in a patronizing way, zipped up his pants and walked out of the alleyway. Now, Stan had enough for the room and a little extra. Stan got off the ground. He needed to wash the taste of that out of his mouth, maybe forget too. He travelled a couple blocks east, to a dive bar called the Red Rooster Inn, where they served him despite his age, it was the haunt of low-lifes, hustlers and johns. Stan didn't go too often. It was smoky, dark and probably filthy, too dark to see the dirt really, but Stan didn't care. He got up to the bar, ordered a jack & coke from the sad old coot, behind the bar. The bartender looked a bit like a basset hound, saggy face with large watering sad, grey eyes.

He got his drink. He might shoot pool, if he could find someone else to do it with, or he might just watch the tv. He drank it, savoring the taste of cola and cheap whiskey.

Someone was waving at him, from a booth in a darkened corner. He looked over and there sat Rick Sanchez, white t-shirt, black leather jacket, and a toothy grin. Despite what happened that morning, it felt good to see the skinny punk.

"Hey heeeeey Pines! What the heck are you doing here?" Rick asked.

"Me? What are you doing here?" Stan asked.

"This is ya know, my beat," Rick said.

Stan's heart sank. "Want me to clear off?" He asked.

"Naw, more the merrier." Rick replied.

Stan sat at the booth next to Rick and took another swig from his drink. "Ya wanna shoot some pool?"

Rick shrugged. "Yeah, I'll kick your ass."

"No cuz I'll kick your ass," Stan said.

They played a few rounds of pool. Rick was cheating somehow, Stan knew that, but since it wasn't for money Stan let him. Then the cue ball grew metal legs, started blinking and began walking towards Rick.

"So that's how ya did it," Stan said. "Can you let me…uhhh use that?"

"No." Rick said.

"Asshole," muttered Stan.

"But heey I'll hustle some suckers at pool and pay for your drinks, maybe…" Rick added. "If you shut up about it."

"Fine, I will if you promise to keep the drinks comin, Sanchez," Stan added.

Rick raised his unibrow. "Yeah, yeah Just keep quiet about it okay, Pines?"

That was a night, Stan thought he and Rick had pretty good thing going with the robot cue ball. They'd play each other for low 'bets' and when a some sucker came up, they'd let him join, sizing him up, lose a game for a small amount. Then Rick would challenge the dope to a game and the robot cue ball wouldn't let the sucker win, but made sure Rick did. When Rick did win, they'd do shots of house whiskey. Stan was unprepared for that. He expected the drinks Rick paid for would be more Jack & Cokes. Which Stan could handle, not increasingly more shots of cheap whiskey which burned down his throat. Though oddly he could roll with it. Four or five shots deep, he felt a bit tipsy. Two more and he felt pleasantly drunk, three more and things started getting blurry and time seemed to disappear. Stan was attempting to light a cigarette, which had become real hard since his fingers no longer wanted to fing…no that wasn't the word… his fingers no longer wanted to work. When Rick, came up to him and began pouting and laughing.

"You wanna sstartsh something asshole?" Stan slurred.

"Naw, y-you… you're too drunk to smoke." Rick giggled and overbalanced and fell on his ass.

"AHAHAHAHA, You're drunk too!" Stan laughed and the cigarette fell out of his mouth. "Fuck."

Rick got up. "S-ss-serves you right, ya know, Stan, cosmic justice… cosmic justice." He pointed again at Stan.

"I think I need to shleep," Stan added.

"Yeah, I'll ummm ya know walk you home," Rick said.

That night they stumbled back towards the motel under the indifferent orange streetlights, arms slung around each other to try and keep from falling. Stan and Rick paused in the alleyway and made out, tongues heavy with whiskey, hungry with lust and longing, then peeled apart almost as strangers, after. They stumbled back separately to the motel. In the wee hours of the morning Stan fumbled to fumbled to unlock the motel room, finally doing so he shut the door, walked a few paces and fell face down on the bed, soon he was deep asleep and snoring.

He didn't really see Rick for the next week, but he could hear his music and machinery through the walls. He was too busy trying to make enough to stay in the motel and maybe for some food. It mostly involved a lot of hustling and some light pick-pocketing. He was really trying the whole treasure hunting thing, if only there was something else that would make him some money. But he couldn't imagine what. One night he was getting ready to pack it in when he realized he had to piss like a racehorse. He was too far from the motel to make it there. So he decided to piss in the nearest alley, like nature intended. He was at the back of the alley behind a dumpster and had just shook off the last drops, when he saw Rick enter the exact same alley with a client.

The other man was a mustachioed Puerto Rican. Both of them spoke in Spanish and Stan didn't understand it. Rick was holding out his hand and the Mustache put the money in Rick's hand. Rick counted the bills, and dropped to his knees. He undid the other man's jeans and began to work. Stan watched half horrified and increasingly aroused. As Rick sucked the stranger's used his tongue a lot more then Stan did, flickering it on the head and then sucking down deeply. Rick worked the entered shaft and… Stan felt his own hand go to his hard cock. He started to rub one out, it was almost instinctual, he wished to christ he was the man Rick was sucking off. When the client pulled out of Rick's mouth and came with a groan, Stan almost did the same. Then Stan watched the man's face cloud as Rick was getting to his feet. The client pulled out a switchblade and said something menacing in Spanish. Quicker than Stan could believe Rick pulled out his own knife and replied in Spanish. He lunged at the man, and the client fled, swearing. Rick then slumped against the wall, looking tired and oddly old. Stan stuffed his cock back in his jeans and zipped up. Yeah, that killed the boner.

"Sanchez?" Stan said coming out from behind the dumpster. "You okay?"

"Yeah, fine Pines," Rick said and pulled his flask and took a pull. "Gotta get the taste of dick cheese out of my mouth."

"I saw everything," Stan remarked. "I wish I coulda…"

"Naw, it's fine, you thundering in would have made it worse," Rick said.

"You wanna go get fucked up?" Stan asked.

Rick shrugged. "Yeah why not."

Rick pulled himself off the wall, and they walked to the bar to get drunk.


	3. Chapter 3

Stan got used to the insane amounts of noise coming from Rick's room and managed to sleep through them. Most of the time he'd sleep through them because he'd spent the night getting drunk or stoned with Rick. They'd fuck around, which meant everything but the act of actual sex. Just a bunch of grab ass and so forth. The saddest thing was the hustling was making him more money then the treasure hunting, which Stan kept at with the determination of a tick on flesh. He didn't think about the home he left, because it hurt too much, besides Rick was here and took up so much of his time. One clear night when they had enough money, Stan drove the car out to the beach, and they laid in the sand sharing a bottle of rum, looking up at the sky and just talking.

"Some day, Pines, Some day I'll visit all those fucking stars." Rick said.

"I don't see any stars," Stan said squinting.

"Fucking light pollution, doesn't lend itself to anything romantic," Rick said.

"Romantic? What do ya mean… this isn't a date?" Stan asked unsure. "Because I ain't queer."

"I wouldn't date you anyways, you're too easy," Rick said with a chuckle.

"Yeah?" Stan said taking a slug from the bottle and feeling the sweet rough liquor burn its way down his throat. "So are you, ya big slut."

Stan playfully gave Rick a punch on the arm. Rick punched Stan on the shoulder with a laugh. Stan punched Rick a little harder, Rick retaliated by socking him in chest. Stan lunged and tackled Rick, they wrestled in the sand, drunk and laughing. Stan had Rick pinned, or so he thought, but Rick rolled over and Stan was underneath, Rick grinned triumphantly, Stan pulled him down by the shoulders and to his own surprise, kissed the bastard, tasting the rum and cigarettes on Rick's breath, enjoying it. They made out a bit, grinding into each other, hard and desperate. Rick pulled back.

"So you wanna…" Stan began.

"Not here," Rick said. "Too much sand."

"Yeah it's getting in my butt-crack," Stan mentioned.

They drove back with the radio on. Stan couldn't find anything that wasn't static other than an oldies station playing Frank Sinatra singing Moon River. Stan moved his hand change it.

"Naw, I like it," Rick said and moved his hand over to Stan's thigh.

"Okay," Stan said, he actually liked Ol' Blue eyes.

He felt Rick's hand on his zipper, soon Rick's hand was rubbing his cock as Stan tried to concentrate on the road. The hand job was making it difficult, but they made it back to the motel in one piece. Rick lept out of the car and ran back to his motel room. Stan followed. They shouted mock threats and in-jokes through the orange streetlights. Rick opened the door, Stan got to the room and Rick was naked already grinning: "Whatcha waitin' for Stan?"

Stan shut the door as the feeling of lust and need rose inside of him.

"Nothin', Sanchez," Stan replied. He stripped off his t-shirt, jeans and boxers, then made a dash across the room to Rick, encircled him his arms, and tackled him onto the bed. Rick kissed him violently, Stan returned the kisses with equal fervor.

"Come on, we gonna fuck around or f-f-fuck?" Rick asked.

Stan chuckled and pulled back. "Eager aren't we?"

Rick rolled his eyes and pulled away from Stan, taking the other man but the shoulders, he pushed Stan down onto the bed and moved lower to Stan's cock. Stan gasped when he felt Rick's tongue licking and tapping on the head of his cock. He was trying not cry out but it felt amazing, as Rick worked at Stan's cock. Hot and wet Rick's tongue, lips, and mouth felt like bliss, a pleasure so sharp and pure Stan was reduced to swearing and gibbering. Then Rick pulled his mouth away.

"Hey why'd you stop?" Stan asked, plaintively.

"I'm horny too ya know," Rick said. He gave Stan's ass a pinch. "Roll on your back."

Stan looked confused but did as Rick wanted. Rick straddled him and slid down onto Stan's erection. This was ten times better than that skilled mouth, Rick rode him hard and impatiently. Stan thrust into the tight, hot, pucker, feeling like a god charged with sweet electricity. This feeling was like soaring, it was sharp as a knife but so delicious. Rick had his hands wrapped around his own cock jerking it as he rode Stan's dick, eyes screwed shut. Then for a moment Rick looked into Stan's own eyes. Stan felt thrill, beyond what was going on below his waist, he was so turned on, but he wasn't ready to come yet, the pleasure was building up and he was hovering close to the edge, each thrust taking him closer and closer. Rick slowed down and ground sweetly into him, it was like a syrupy sloppy pleasure, drawing it out and out. Stan could hardly stand it, then Rick sped up the pace suddenly and with a cry Stan cursed and almost came. It was almost unavoidable now. Rick's tight hole and rocking hips brought him over the edge once again and he came, his brain dissolving and muttering out nonsense words as he spurted. Rick came a moment later furiously jerking at own dick, spraying his load onto his and Stan's belly and yelling in Spanish. Rick collapsed on top of him while Stan was still inside.

After a few moments Rick said: "We need to take a shower."

"Yeah," Stan said. "Together?"

"Why not?" Rick replied and got off of Stan.

"Just so you know, I'm not gay or anything," Stan said as he followed Rick into the bathroom.

"Neither am I," Rick replied. "This is just the two of us having some fun. And I mean nobody's getting hurt, right?"

"Yeah," Stan said. "Just so you know, You might like taking it up the butt, I don't."

Rick turned on the faucet. "Hey don't knock it until you try it, Pines."

Under the hot water of the shower they goofed around, playing grab ass. After both toweled off, and they went back to bedroom. Rick rolled up a joint, lit and they smoked on the bed. Passing it back and forth, laughing and feeling floaty, blissful and…hungry. Well Stan had gotten used to the dull ache of hunger most days, and he wasn't exactly rolling in it, but he was starving and really, really needed…

"I gotta get some oreos." He muttered

"I need fritos." Rick added.

Stan took another hit and began to laugh. Rick took the joint from him and took a hit and giggled. "We can't afford any of this shit."

"Yeah but who said we're gonna pay for it?" Stan replied.

"Oh…yeah…" Rick laughed.

They drove to the local supermarket, going fast, swerving but not caring, it wasn't like there were cops and they didn't hit anyone. They found a cart in the parking lot.

Rick hopped in the basket and Stan gleefully sped into the store.

"Hold on," Rick said at the entrance. "Lemme do something." He pushed back the sleeve of his leather jacket and pressed a button on a strange wrist watch he had. Stan felt something a wave pass over them, a ripple in the air, but there was nothing there. Maybe this was just real good weed.

The cashier at the front looked bored and didn't see to care, as she read her Confessions Magazine.

They hurtled through the aisles, Rick shouting orders and grabbing things off the shelves. Time seemed to slow down a bit as they rocketed around grabbing things, Stan stuffed a lot of it into his jeans pockets. it was magical. Then they hit a display, knocking boxes of cornflakes everywhere.

"Fuck, we're in trouble now Sanchez," Stan said, in the tones of the very stoned and terrified, anxiety and fear pulsing through him.

"No, no… just hold onto to cart," Rick said. "Don't let go, trust me."

The cashier and a stock boy came and looked at the ruined display.

"Huh," Said the cashier. "Musta fell over."

"Yeah," Said the Stockboy. "I told Tom his stacking skills were shit."

When they left, Stan looked at Rick wide eyed. Rick grinned like a maniac. "Personal cloaking device, I tested it yesterday and it wo-orks!"

"Wha? Like in Star Trek?!" Stan was alarmed.

"Exactly like in Star Trek," Rick said. "And it's harmless…. mostly."

"Mostly, whadda mean Sanchez?!" Stan said as he wheeled the basket outside.

"It won't effect us for about 20 years, then I dunno we'll be old." Rick said.

"Oh," Stan said. "That's alright."

"Yeah," Rick said he pulled out another joint from his jacket pocket. He lit it, took a hit and handed it to Stan."Reeelax, Pines."

"Heh." Stan said. Stan took a hit and handed it back. He felt slightly calmer.

In the parking lot, Rick touched another button on his watch, and the cloaking field went away with a small audible pop. "It's not like we could rob banks with this… I gotta work on it some more for that, heat signatures are still visible through infrared, and it's a small cloaking field."

Stan loaded up the car. "So…. what are those effects?"

Rick hopped out of the shopping cart and looked at Stan. "I think uhhh, excessive drooling or tooth loss, cataracts and hearing loss. And I dunno that was just on a rhesus monkey I tested it on and a squirrel."

"We're not squirrels or monkeys, so… that won't happen right?"

"…Yeah, don't worry."

They got in the car Stan started it up. Rick grabbed a bag of fritos from the back and began to munch as Stan drove along. "Hey could ya grab the oreos?" asked Stan.

Rick crawled over the seat and grabbed the box, he lobbed it at Stan. Stan threw the cookies aside and swerved around a cat crossing the street, then he hit someone. There was sickening thump and crunch. "OH SHIT OH SHIT OH SHIT! I DIDN'T SEE HIM!"

Rick was yelling something, Stan didn't catch because he slammed on the breaks. His heart was racing time was going weird, it felt like a tunnel he was traveling through, but that was just the pot talking. He grabbed the cookies, tore open the package and began munching.

Rick looked at Stan, "Why did you stop?"

"I just killed someone!" Stan said. "I didn't mean it, but the jury won't know that! I'm gonna get the chair!"

"Not if you keep going, no one saw right?" Rick said calmly, almost soothingly.

"Uh, yeah," Stan gave a chuckle of relief. He started up the engine. "Nothing happened okay?"

But he saw some movement from rearview mirror, a figure silhouetted in the street light, it had risen from the road and was staggering towards the car.

"…Wait…" Rick said. "I wanna check this out."

"What if they wanna press charges?" Stan asked.

"I doubt it," Rick said. "Come on, I'll show you?"

So Stan got out of the car and cautiously followed Rick. The figure turned and Stan found himself staring into dull eyes, a slack jaw and lolling tongue. It was a man, and clothed. It lumbered towards him, wordlessly. Rick got in between and gently pushed on the man's chest, he moaned and fell onto his back, lay there in the road twitching. Rick scuttled around and grabbed a flailing wrist.

"What are you doing?" Stan asked.

"Taking a pulse, this guy has none, also his skin is green," Rick said. "Looking at the marks on the throat, I'm saying he was dead before you ran him over."

"Me? You're the one you threw those— " Stan began "..wait he's dead?"

"Yep," Rick said.

"Is that a zombie?" Stan asked.

"Naw," Rick said. "Zombies are more aggressive… someone… was playing with Dr. West's old formula… it's just a reanimated corpse."

"Whew," Stan said. "Then we're out of here."

"Nope," Rick took the hand of the reanimated corpse. "We're taking him with us."

"WHAT? Are you fucking nuts!" Stan asked. "IT could eat our brains or or…"

"Relax, the worst this guy—" Rick reached to corpse's back pocket and pulled out a wallet."—Mark Scarpi…is gonna do is stink up the trunk. Besides I wanna dissect this motherfucker."

Rick pulled a few dollars from the wallet and handed them to Stan.

"Fine," Stan said. "But only this once, next dead thing you find, you haul it back to your room."

On the way back they listened to Warren Zevon, it was quiet, except for Mark's soft thumps from the trunk.


	4. Chapter 4

"You won't believe what I found." Rick whispered in Stan's ear, waking him up.

Rick had entered Stan's locked motel room, Rick was also covered with blood, Stan jumped back screaming.

"What the fuck?!"

"Hey hey calm the fuck down," Rick said making a down gesture. "If I was going to kill you, I'd have done it a while ago."

Stan wrinkled his brow in thought for a moment: "Fair enough. What's with all the blood?"

"I did an autopsy on our undead friend," Rick said. "Found evidence of the reanimation serum, also lots of jizz in his stomach and ass."

"yuck," Stan said.

"You know what this means?" Rick asked.

"No."

"Of course not … it means someone has been reanimating corpses to fuck them. Which is a whole 'nother level of effed up." Rick said taking a swig from his flask. "Now I'm gonna take a shower"

And Rick began to walk off towards Stan's bathroom.

"Hey don't you have your own shower?!" Stan shouted.

"Where do think I did the autopsy?" Rick replied, then the door slammed shut.

"Asshole!" Stan shouted.

Stan had almost gone back to sleep when Rick came out of the shower.

"Hey G-get up," Rick said.

"Why?" Stan said and pulled his pillow over his head.

Rick sat down on the bed and tugged at Stan's feet.

"Because you have a car and we need to get down to Sally Anne and get us some cheap suits." Rick said.

"Why the fuck do we need to do that?" Stan asked.

"Because, I'll explain after I blow you." Rick said.

Stan took the pillow off his head and rolled over, he grinned at Rick. "Alright."

The problem with Rick is he was too good at it, and Stan found himself coming quicker than he expected.

After Rick had swallowed and cleaned up he explained, "Ya see Pines we need to look like detectives, that's why we need the cheap suits."

"Yeah?" Stan perked up. "What kinda con are you planning on running?"

"I'm planning on posing as detectives to find out about the late Mark Scarpi."

"Yeah? Why's that?"

"Because whoever turned his corpse into a fuck puppet didn't just do it once I bet."

"Why d'you need me?"

"A police detective always has a partner."

Rick turned away from Stan, got up and stretched. Despite himself Stan felt a smile creep on onto his face.

A half hour later Stan was sitting in a parking lot in his car with Rick. This was the bad part of town, it made the lead-paint district look like fifth avenue.

They were both wearing rumpled suits and trench-coats that smelled like mothballs as Rick jimmied with some sort of whacky invention on his lap.

Rick picked it up and showed it to Stan.

"That's a wallet with a blank piece of paper in it, what the hell Rick?"

"It isn't on yet." Rick sighed and pressed a button on the back. The paper flickered into life before Stan's eyes.

Suddenly it was a police ID complete with badge. "It's telepathic paper, it tells the viewer what I want them to think I am, it shorts out sometimes …"

"That's amazing!" Stan exclaimed. "Gimme!"

"Here ya go," Rick said, and tossed Stan a wallet.

Stan pressed the button and waited…nothing, he clicked again. Maybe it shorted out? Without it, he was fucked. He didn't look like a cop, he was too young looking…this was a stupid idea anyhow… he needed to be on the beach treasure hunting.

"Hello Mr. Insecurities, it responds to the brain of whoever is holding it." Rick said. "You got issues, if you aren't confident it doesn't do jack shit except broadcast whatever random bullshit is in your head."

"Oh great," Stan sighed, "I don't even wanna be here."

"Hey, I paid for the gas and the suits." Rick replied. "And I blew you."

"You wanted to do that," Stan grumbled.

"Look Pines, what your problem is, is that even if you are a pussy, you can't act like it, ya know, what's a con-man without confidence? You lift wallets and turn tricks all the time." Rick said.

"Yeah, but this is serious Sanchez, we could get caught and we'd end up in prison, and you know what they'd do to guys like me in prison." Stan pleaded.

"Just think 'I'm a cop, my dick is rock hard and I'm above the fucking law, because I am the law'" Rick said.

Stan repeated, but he didn't buy it and the paper didn't either.

"Last ditch efforts then," Rick said taking out a small metal container and pouring a dime sized dot of white powder on the knuckle of his thumb. "This is will help, Stan… just a bump, not m-m-much and you'll be good to go, right as rain, ya'know."

"What is it?"

"Cocaine, dummy."

"If it'll help," Stan sighed. He bent over Rick's hand and inhaled. It was hard to get it up his nose for one, it didn't seem to want to stay up there. He felt a rush, a warmth, his heartbeat get faster, energy and confidence increased dramatically. He said at the words: 'I'm a cop, MY DICK IS ROCK HARD, I'm above the FUCKING law because I AM THE FUCKING LAW!" He tasted the words and yeah they sounded right, things seemed clearer, more focused, he could pull this off! They'd buy it too.

Rick smiled. "Look at yer telepathic paper."

A police ID appeared, looking legit as fuck. "Yeah."

"And awwaaay we go!" Rick said and opened the car door.

Rick rang the fifth buzzer down on a nondescript block of brown apartments. A male voice crackled over the intercom. "Yeah?"

"This is the police, we're here to talk to you about your roommate Mark Scarpi." Rick said in a calm no-bullshit voice, as he held the button on the intercom.

"Uh-okay, just lemme put my pants on, then I'll buzz you up." said the guy on the other end of the intercom.

Rick raised his unibrow and took his finger off the buzzer. "Ten to one, Stan he's hiding drugs."

Stan nodded. "So what do I do?"

"Just follow my lead," Rick said. "Let me ask the questions."

"Right." Stan nodded, he was thrumming with energy from the coke.

The buzzer buzzed, the door clicked. Rick took the door and held it open as Stan followed.

"According to the Driver's license he lived in number five at the end."

Stan glanced around and saw numbers on each door of the first floor. "It only goes to four here."

"He's up the stairs, then." Rick said.

It was on the left at the top of the stairs. The air around the door had a funk of rotting garbage and stale marijuana smoke.

Rick knocked on the door. The guy who answered had shaggy blond hair, sallow skin, and the slightly dazed look of the permanently stoned. He was wearing a led-zepplin t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Rick and Stan flashed their badges at him.

"Whoa. So you the cops?"

"Yep." Rick said.

"I'm Lenny Franks, uhhhh come in?" Said the guy.

They stepped into the apartment. The floors were a scratched, dirty hardwood, with dust kitties and trash, as for furniture there was a beanbag chair, a lawn chair, and numerous milk crates. The chairs were circled in a way that suggested there was usually a bong in the middle.

"Your roommate Mark has been missing for quite sometime hasn't he?" asked Rick.

"Yeah," said Lenny. "I figured he skipped town, he owed a lot of money to people… shit he owed me twenty bucks. Why do you care now?"

"His mother," Stan said thinking quickly. "Has been wondering why her son hasn't called."

"Oh, heh." said Lenny. "He didn't talk about his folks much, ya know. But we don't have a phone here, so I guess he used the pay phone down the street."

Rick nodded. "So how long would you say he's been gone?"

"Uhhh, I dunno, two and half weeks, officers." said Lenny.

"Mind if we look in his room?" asked Stan.

"Sure, I mean he hasn't been there for a while." Lenny replied. " It's the one on the left near the kitchenette, Just don't look in mine, I know my rights."

Rick glanced at Stan and rolled his eyes and nodded.

The room was tiny, there was barely enough room for an unmade bed… no mattress… on the floor. There was a copy of some pulp magazine, a small radio, and a wooden cigar box. It contained some very dry weed and a pipe. Stan pocketed that. He went back out and Rick was still questioning Lenny.

"Where did you last see Mark?" asked Rick.

"He went to the Blue Swallow Lounge…yeah," said Lenny.

Rick cleared his throat. "That's a gay bar, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess you could call it that, huh, never thought about," Lenny said.

"Your friend gay?" asked Stan, putting an edge to his voice. "You know what those fags get up to."

"Not really, he just uhhh…" Lenny seemed nervous. "Needed a drink, it was in the neighborhood."

"So he went to this gay bar, just for a drink?" Rick said shaking his head.

"Look, Mark had lost his job washing dishes and, I dunno man, sometimes… when he couldn't' get work, he sells himself to those queers, made good money too." Lenny said.

"How do you know about that?" Rick said in a no nonsense way. "Anything you say won't be used as evidence against you."

"Well, I sorta do that once in awhile too," Lenny said. "Hey, I mean now I have this job in construction. I guess I got him into it."

"Once in awhile?" Stan asked still putting an edge on the voice.

"Fine, I hook more than that, just don't let it out, I have this girl I'm seeing, I don't want her thinking I'm into guys, man," Lenny said.

"So you got him into hooking, one night he goes to this gay bar and what?" Stan said. "You weren't worried when he didn't come home?"

"Naw, sometimes he doesn't for a day or two," Lenny said.

"He hasn't been home in nearly three weeks," Rick said.

"Hey man, people come and go, ya know?" Lenny shrugged. "I thought it was an asshole move leaving me with the rent. But Marky had debts and stuff…."

"So you never considered, something may have happened to him." Stan growled, it was good just like a proper policeman.

Lenny's placid expression changed to one of horror, he blanched. "…oh shit, he could be dead! Shit! I mean some other guys we knew kinda disappeared but Harlan said he'd be going to San Fran, and Andy... well… he never exactly told us, just left."

"Did any of this happen near the Blue Swallow Lounge?" asked Rick.

"...yeah…" Lenny said. "I always knew that place had some bad juju."

"Thank you, Mr. Franks." said Rick. "Your information is very useful."

"We'll tell you if there are any developments in the case." Stan said.

Rick had been writing down what Lenny said in a small pad. He flipped it closed, they walked out the door of apartment five, down the hallway, and out the door.

"We goin' to that creepy bar?" Stan asked.

"Yep." said Rick. "You took something from Mark's room what?"

"Just some weed." Stan said.

"Give it to me," Rick said.

Stan handed to Rick, not really thinking. Rick snatched it away and put in his trench coat pocket.

"Hey I was gonna smoke that," Stan sighed.

"I'm gonna see if this shit is dusted, then you can smoke what's left, it's shit weed anyhow." Rick said.

A few hours later Stan was watching TV in his motel room when Rick knocked on the door.

"Giving me the weed back?" Stan asked.

"No." Rick said. "It's time we're going to the Blue Swallow Lounge. We're gonna get some info there."

"We going as cops again?"

"Nope, just us."

"Fine, lemme put on some pants." Stan sighed.

He didn't know why the fuck he was doing this, but at least it was better than giving bjs for ten dollars to lonely sailors. Besides this was a bar, right? He could have a drink.

The Blue Swallow Lounge was on the ground floor of a mouldering brick building in front of a railway bridge in the next city. It took a while to get there since neither were quite sure where exactly it was, both had seen it but neither had been in. The light blue neon sign with a swallow in flight was enough to tell them. There was something off about the place, Stan couldn't put his finger on it but shrugged it off as they opened the door. The Blue Swallow Lounge was a low rectangular room, it was dimly lit by golden lamps and mirrors lining the walls. The booths in the corner were trying to make the place look classier than the shitty dive it was. Stan noted the mirrors were cracked around the corners and speckled with age, and the naugahyde lining the booths was peeling. The clientele of the bar didn't seem to notice them, too busy smoking their cigarettes and drinking their beers. Stan wanted to see what they looked like up close… and well… they all just looked like normal guys and girls. Wait, were those girls? Stan couldn't be sure, but hey it wasn't like they were making him wear a dress. Rick was chatting with the bartender, who was nodding and saying something. Stan didn't care, he took a cigarette and smoked it at the bar. The bartender shrugged and nodded at a person in the corner, Rick nodded and went off to talk to the person.

Stan ordered a beer, drank it, smoked, and watched as the patrons of the Blue Swallow Lounge talked and flirted. Rick would pay for the beer, after all Rick did make him drive to this shithole, it was the least he could do. He was on his third beer of the night. Each one nursed slowly, 'cuz no way he was fucking up this zombie… thing… when he realized he had a great and urgent need to piss. So he left the beer on the bar and went off to the john.

He read the graffiti on the wall as he pissed, shook it off, popped it back in, and went back out to the bar. Someone had put the jukebox on, 'stuck in the middle with you," Also no one had touched his beer it was still where he left it, didn't even look cloudy or nothin.

Rick was still talking to someone. Stan sat back down and drank his beer, feeling slightly mellow and buzzed. Something shifted, the buzz became a weird, sleepy, nausea, when he tried to move it was like he stepped off an amusement park ride, he was dizzy as fuck. So maybe he'd had more than three beers, he tried to remember if he'd been drinking more but things were fuzzy around the edges. He felt like he'd been pounding 'em back all night. The dizziness was the worst, he looked at the floor wondering if he should sleep or vomit on it. He tried to get up but almost fell out of his chair, his limbs feeling like jelly. He needed fresh air, the whole place was spinning and he couldn't seem to find Rick or even speak right, the words were there but he knew he couldn't say it, not with a tongue that felt like lead in his mouth.

He was walking to the door of the Blue Swallow Lounge or trying to, he had to hold on to chairs and things to not fall down. Fuck he couldn't even see right!

"Stan, what the fuck are you doing?" Came Rick's voice, It sounded like it was echoing and coming from behind.

"Lemme go…. Lemme get some fresh air….. my head is…. whoa!" He said as the room dipped.

He made it out the door, despite the fact the room now seemed to be rocking like ship in a high gale. He was outside, gulping in the colder, fresher air, he still didn't feel right. He walked a few paces and vomited. There was someone coming up behind him from the Blue Swallow Lounge. A hand on his shoulder a kindly male voice: "Hey, son you don't look so good, want me to get you somewhere safe?"

"No,"Stan brushed off the hand. "I don... I just want some fresh air, just fres' air… "

The man had come back, Stan looked at his face and recognized him from the bar. He took Stan by the shoulder's "Come on, you're drunk, we'll get you home and safe."

The man looped his arm around Stan's shoulder and began to half carry him away. It seemed like the world was blank, because Stan didn't remember being lead away from the bar. He must be drunk, well it was good he ran into a friend….wait who the fuck was this guy? And why did he care so much about Stan? It wasn't Rick,though. A spark went off in Stan's muddled brain.

"NO!" Stan shouted and pushed the man away with all his strength, the other man stumbled away."GET THE FUCK OFF ME!"

Stan was sure he looked the man directly in eyes at this point, but later he wouldn't be able to say who it was. "Whoa, calm down son, I was just trying to help…"

Stan stumbled towards him, limbs feeling like rubber, he mustered all his strength and growled, "I don't know who the fuck you are, and if you touch me again, I'll kill you."

The man turned tail and ran. Stan then fell to his knees and threw up again. He stayed like that for a while, staring blankly at the puddle of vomit. Until he heard Rick behind him, "Hey Pines, what the fuck happened?"

"don't know," Stan said. He handed Rick his keys to the car. "We're goin, I'm lettin' you drive. Important."

"Y-Y-y-you shouldn't be this hammered, I've watched you knock back a lot more then this," Rick said furrowing his unibrow. "I'm doing a blood test on you,"

"Fuck," Stan slurred, he took a step stumbled and then grabbed hold of Rick.

Rick sighed, but put his arm around Stan's waist and helped him to the car. Maybe it was whatever had gotten him loopy, but Stan felt a strange warmth towards Sanchez at that moment.

"You paid our tab right?" Stan added.

"Yep." Rick sighed.


	5. Chapter 5

"For the last time I don't know what the guy looked like! I don't really remember anything about this night, Rick. Leave me alone." Stan growled.

"You looked right at him, Stan, why the fuck don't you know?" Rick said.

"I don't know!" Stan shouted, put his hands in hands and groaned. "Oy, is the blood test ready? It's been a day."

"Cut me some slack, the machine needs to do a comprehensive analysis, which takes time." Rick sighed. "Do you remember anything about that guy who talked to you outside?"

"No, and I remember less the more you keep askin' me!" Stan roared. "You are getting on my last nerve Sanchez, and it's only 10:00 am. I'm goin to Rita's to get a coffee."

Stan left slamming the door as he went. Then came back in because in his dramatic exit he'd forgotten a few important things.

"You're gonna wanna put on some pants." Rick mentioned with a wave.

"Yeah," Stan grumbled.

So he did, back in his room, he shaved, put on a shirt that smelled clean, a spritz of cologne and brushed some gel through his hair. He strolled down the block to Rita's, it was packed, he took a seat at the counter: lit a cigarette and took drag, the waitress would come around shortly. As he watched the waitress flirt with a construction worker at the other end of the counter, he sighed this would take a while. Someone tapped him on the shoulder and he spun around on the stool.

"Hey I was wondering," said a woman's familiar voice, before he was able to face to her. "You got a light for a girl?"

He turned and looked shocked at the woman sitting at the counter. Same thick brown hair with a flower in it, same smile and same killer figure. "Carla McCorkle?"

"Yeah,… that's me… " she said. "Do I know you?"

He laughed maybe a little nervously. "Yeah, I'm Stanley Pines, I stopped that guy from steal in' your purse and we went on a date or two about four years ago."

"Well you sure grew up," She said admiringly. "You're mad at me for sending back your flowers, see the thing is if my Dad had gotten wind of—"

Hey! She was interested in him, that was good, he decided he'd take the high road, forgive, forget and maybe get another shot with her? "No, it's fine. Still want me to light your cig?"

She held it up. "Sure!"

He flicked the lighter and she leaned in close over the flame, she smelled the way angels smell, Stan thought,

"Hey Carla baby, you free any time this week?"

She looked him up and down again. "I might be, ya got a car?"

"That's a thing I have!" He said eagerly.

"Great," She said with a smile and puff on the cigarette. "Pick me up here this friday at 8:00 sharp."

"You bet I will!" He was overjoyed and had forgotten about flagging down a waitress. A real hot girl, was going on a date with him! Wait was Rick the jealous type? No, why the fuck was he thinking about Rick like that? The skinny sonofabitch, wouldn't care. Stan decided it would good not to tell him, because he wouldn't care anyhow. What if she found out, about the hustling? Would she react like Mom and Dad did when Ford finally told them?

He thought about that fateful night again:

"—Though if you think about it, there is a silver lining huh… treasure hunting?" He said with a shrug.

"Are you kidding me? Why would wanna do anything with the dirty hustler who ruined my life!?" Ford shouted and pushed him.

Stan was about to get to his feet when Pa came out of nowhere, grabbed him by the shirt, yanking him up "You're doing what you knucklehead?!"

"He's selling his body down on the docks!" Ford said.

"Hey!" Stan countered. "You said you'd never tell!?"

"I don't want your dirty, whoring ass here!" Pa shouted and pushed him.

Mom came in with the crying baby, and then she found out and….Some brother Ford turned out to be. Well, he'd show them, he'd makes a pile of money treasure hunting or something else semi-legit (not this), and he'd come back rich and with a pretty girl on his arm, maybe Carla, maybe someone else. They'd forgive him, they'd love him, he'd prove he wasn't worthless. Decades later in a cold, dark sub-basement, he'd tell the twins and Soos a sanitized version of this story, or bits of it. However, the future is a far way land whose shores are impossible to fathom, and Stanley was never good at that. He tried to think of his upcoming date with Carla as he walked back to the motel. Back in his room, he'd just laid down on the bed when Rick burst in.

"HEEEY! I JUST GOT THE BLOOD TEST RESULTS BACK!"

Rick shouted, then kissed him full on the lips. Stan pushed Rick away, hard.

"What the heck, Sanchez?"

"Turns out you were drugged and there are -urp- compounds in here that erase memory."

"Knew it! I never get that hammered on three beers!"

"Pines, whoever is doing this is a genius chemist, almost as good as me. Some of this stuff isn't available to every asshole with a home chemistry set. It narrows the pool of suspects down." Rick said. "Also they live nearby… I have some, friends still at Princeton and Columbia."

"You went to those schools?"

"Yeah but not under my own name. I n-n-need to make a few calls. I need a few bottles of high class booze, and I'll need your car."

"Hey, you can't do that!"

"I'm asking because I'm not an asshole I'll have it back by Friday."

"You'd better."

With that Rick was out the door. Stan put some pants and looked out the door. Rick was speeding away in the Stanleymobile, asshole. He felt in his pants pocket and noticed he still had the keys. Which meant… Rick has hot-wired the car. Stan felt a smile curl on his lips, That Rick Sanchez knew what he was doing alright. Stan just hoped his car would be one piece when Rick came back.

He spent the week hustling his ass off, not thinking about Rick or much other then seeing Carla on Friday night. It was harder to get around without the car, but he'd found ways of making enough money to impress Carla. Friday morning Stan slept in, he work to find his car paired in front of his room, it looked alright, not scratch on it. Stan went to Rita's for his breakfast (this time he could get some eggs! Well one egg…) Rick was sitting in a far booth, hunched over something and mumbling. Stan took a seat across from him.

Rick looked up, Stan was shocked at what he saw but quickly covered it with a smirk.

"Hey Rick you need help carrying those bags under your eyes?"

"You're not funny, Stan. I've been having to wine, schmooze and in two cases fuck academic windbags all week… they all wanted something, and only Doug Blevins and his wife let me crash in his place."

"What, you're delicate you can't sleep in a car?"

"It fucked up my back, Stan. "

"Heh, yeah, it does that."

"I've been living on aspirin and coffee. I'm narrowing down the suspects…"

Stan looked down at the scribbled list that Rick was holding.

"Can I help?"

"NO."

"Yeesh, I thought we were in this together…"

"—you can't, you don't know dick about any of these people—"

"—you could tell me—"

"-To much effort—" Rick dismissed him with a wave.

"Oy, sorry I asked." Stan sighed

Stan got up from the booth: Rick was an ungrateful son of a bitch, Rick had all the social graces of a bear and all the manners of a snake. Stan got up and went to counter to get his coffee and a sunny side up egg with toast. That night he had a big date with Carla, this time he wouldn't blow it.

A little after eight pm, Stan pulled up in front of Rita's, if he'd been earlier then he would have been uncool, his hair was slicked back, spritz of cologne he was in a almost new tan leisure suit and aviator shade. Carls was standing near the door, a white flower in her hair, she was in a sexy red number, gold gladiator sandals, she was carrying a small red clutch, dolled to nines, she smiled as she slide in next to Stan.

"So what do you wanna do, babe?" Stan asked, trying to sound cool and in control.

"I wanna go dancing!" She squealed sliding in next to him and rest her hand on his arm. "Let's hit the disco."

Maybe it was feeling of her hand on his forearm, maybe it was smell of her, or the way she was looking at him… but the disco sounded great. The Starlight club was one of two discos in Glass shard beach, it wasn't studio 54 or anything, but the look in Carla's eyes when they parked the car was heaven, she was beautiful and she was with him.

He felt like a prince and when they weren't turned away by the bouncer but let instead, was the cherry on the sundae. They danced for a good portion of the night, she felt light, soft and sweet in his arms. That was on thing both of them could really dance, it was nice that to have someone that appreciated it. Nice to be with a girl, not a stinking, crude, hairy man. Halfway through the date he began to feel sweaty, tired, aching and heavy.

"Carla," He yelled over the music. "You wanna take a break?"

"Yeah why not!" she shouted back.

There were vinyl booths in the back of the room near the bar, C-shaped, dark and cool. She seemed just as tired as he did as they slumped down into the booths.

"Ugh, I'm sweatin' like pig…" She mumbled and scratched the back of her head. Then she caught him looking at her, blushed and primped. "I mean I'm a bit hot, ya know."

"..yeah me too. You having a good time?" He asked, feeling nervous.

"Yeah! I love dancing, I haven't been in forever, I'm staying with my sister and her family… it's so good to get out of the house." She sighed. She took a cigarette out of her purse and lit it, taking a drag.

"what do you wanna do after this?" He asked.

"I wanna keep dancing, Stan." She said. "I love dancing, I wanna dance all night. I know what'll perk us up!"

"What?"

She took out a baggie of white powder and put a little of it on the table, began cutting lines. "You party Stan?"

"Yeah," He said. "Didn't they say this doesn't hurt you no more then eaten' peanut butter?"

"Yeah pretty much." She said. She took a rolled up dollar bill from her purse and did a line, then sniffed. Stan rolled up a dollar from his wallet and he did a line. His heart beat faster, he felt the spring return to his step, in fact he felt fuckin' amazing. They were going to dance this place down to ground.

He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her on the dance floor, she laughed. They bopped, shimmied and did the hustle, it was great. Everything seemed clearer, sharper, better, no pain only joy.

A slow song came on and she curled into his arms holding him around the waist. Her warm body pressed against his, was making him hard and nervous. He hoped she didn't notice…then she looked him in the eyes deviously and snuggled closer to him. She did know and she liked it! She liked him! He wanted to take her right there on the dance floor… she leaned up and whispered: "This is fun but I gotta pee. Meet you but the bar?"

"Oh, okay." He said he was trying not to blush.

They moved off the dance floor. He stood but the bar waiting for to get back, the song ended a new louder more upbeat song came on, she emerged from the ladies room.

"Hey why don't we get drinks?" She asked.

"Why not?" He said.

He got a harvey wallbanger and she got a tequila sunrise, they went off to a booth, drank, giggled, a little drunk, a little high… mostly happy. They were playing footsie under the table, she was holding his hand, and they talked about stupid stuff. She was sipping her drink, looking out across the dance floor when she saw someone that made her go white as sheet. Suddenly Carla ducked under the table.

"What the-?!" Stan began and he did the same.

"Why did you do that?" She hissed.

"Me? I'm not the one who just hid under a table… this floor is sticky." Stan commented.

"Fine, I'll tell you but don't get mad. My ex Tommy is here." She said chewing her bottom lip. "He's trying to get me back."

She pointed and there was a thin man with black hair slicked back in a pompadour, a long nose, a hello dress shirt with wide lapels… jeans.. that guy looked strangely familiar but Stan couldn't place him.

"You don't want him do you?" Stan asked worried the floor was sticky and his back ached from crouching.

"Naw, he cheated on me with my sister, not the one I'm living with….that's Marie but my younger sister—Rosie" She sniffed. "He's a pig and she's always been jealous."

"Then why are we hiding?" Stan asked indignantly. "Sounds like you don't want nothing to do with him."

She looked away again…then back sheepishly. "I took all the money we made from our last job, when I left him. I think he's just found out now."

"Oh boy…." Stan said. "There's a back door to this place, you find it and leave, while I distract the asshole."

This was his moment Stan got out from under the table, straightened out and walked towards Tommy.

"HEY ASSHOLE!" Stan shouted and jabbed Tommy in the gut. "YER EX SENDS HER REGARDS!"

The music was still playing but underneath there was silence from the other clubgoers. The bouncer would be here shortly, Stan had to leave quick…..

Tommy doubled over, then slowly uncurled from the punch to the gut, he was laughing. "So she's got some other sucker to do her dirty work now?

"What? You cheated on her!"

"She got greedy, I had to show her she could be replaced."

"I'LL REPLACE YOUR FACE!" Stan shouted and lunged the other way as Tommy flinched. Stan turned and ran out the door, dodging the bouncer. Carla was waiting by the car. He unlocked the doors, they got in and sped off. They looked at each other and started laughing uncontrollably, they were laughing so much Stan had to pull over.

Carla stopped laughing she smiled at him.

"Ohhhhh thank you so much!" she squealed and kissed him hard on the mouth. Her lips were soft, she smelled amazing…Stan was reeling, but recovered enough to wrap his arm around her, and start kissing her back. The thought of Rick vaguely itched in his brain he pushed it away. Carla broke the kiss, she primly leaned back in her seat and began to fix her make up. Stan was still a bit overwhelmed, a bit giddy and dizzy.

Then something clicked in his head he knew where he saw Tommy before!

"Carla wasn't that Tommy the asshole who tried to swipe your purse four years ago…"

"…yeah…"

'Then why were dating him?"

"Cuz, we had a fight and I split with some money we made. I went to the movie line, he showed up, tried to take it back and I figured someone would stop him."

"…yeah…I did!"

"You did, you big hero!" She nuzzled in close to Stan but he sidled away. "What?"

"You and him…."

"…it's over now. He's a cheating pig. This was the last straw!"

"You got back with him then."

"That was different I was a kid, I was new to the game."

"Game?"

Carla looked away, blushing, ashamed. "I'm a con artist Stan. Tommy taught me some things we did the romance game, the badger game, the pigeon drop, the dropped wallet, the ring drop, lottery fraud and few others."

Stan smiled and began to chuckle, this was just rich, she was just like him.

Carla scowled. "What's so funny?!"

"Nothin' …I was wondering, babe, you looking for a new partner?"

Her eyes glimmered suspiciously. "You're not a cop?"

"Nope."

"…you want in on this whole thing?"

"Yep."

"Alright. I'll show you the ropes, Stanley." She said, was starting to smile to it lit her whole face.

"What do you want to do now?" Stan asked.

"I wanna go home." Carla said, she sounded tired.

"Sure thing, babe." Stan said.

This was fun," She said smiling. "I wanna see you again…" She took his hand, a pent from her purse and scribbled her number on it. "Call me."

She got out the car.

"Sure thing," He said. "bye"

Carla insisted on being dropped off at the end of the street and walking the rest of the way to the house. Stan watched her until she entered one of the houses. He drove back feeling content, he could still smell her perfume, still feel her soft lips. That was real romance, maybe this was the start of something good .Stan was still thinking of Carla when he walked into his motel room. It was dark, so Stan flipped on the light. He gave a startled cry when he saw that Rick was sleeping on his bed.

"What the fuck are you doin' here Sanchez?"

"I was waiting for you, asshole." Rick said blearily.. "I wanted to get laid before the night was over."

Stan closed the door and sat down on the edge of bed. "Well go back your room you horny son of a bitch. I aint' putting out tonight."

Rick looked Stan over suspiciously. "Yeah cuz you've been out with a bit of tail."

"Yeah, what's it to you?!" Stan roared.

"Calm down Stanley. " Rick said. "We aren't fuckin' married."

"Yeah exactly." Stan nodded.

"So you want me to leave, or do you want your dick sucked?" Rick asked.

Stan furrowed his brow… it wasn't like he was serious with Carla either and Rick did know how to suck dick real good. "Uhhh, yeah sure."

Rick was shimmying down between Stan's legs even as words came out of his mouth.

Stan wondered if this was wise but Rick's teeth were pulling down the zipper of his jeans, and Rick's hands were freeing his cock form his boxers. Soon he wasn't thinking about anything because of Rick's deft tongue swirling and circling around the head of his cock and Rick's wet mouth encircled around his the shaft. His mind was dissolving in the wet, hot pleasure of it. He wasn't thinking and didn't want to be bothered with it, just let him fl, let him float in this bliss that was this hot, wet hole and skilled, lapping tongue. It wouldn't stop, then he felt a hand stroking his balls..it was amazing. Shit, how the fuck did Rick get so good? Stan watched him through half lidded eyes, in s blessed out stupor as the minutes ticked by and the feeling built and built. His hands tangled in Sanchez's dark hair, his hips jerked thrusting unconsciously into Rick's mouth. Rick looked up at him, and that almost sent him over the edge. Then with a wet pop, Rick pulled away.

"Wha?"

"Fuck me."

"Alright, lemme just get in the middle of the bed."

Rick took off his pants and mounted Stan, he rode and rode Stan, hard and fast as he jerked himself off. It was to much Stan came cursing. Rick got off, and rolled on to the bed next to Stan.

"That was big let down, Pines."

"I told ya, I'm tired. "

"Jerk me off and we'll call it even."

"Fine, fine…"

Stan took Rick's hard cock in his hand and began in earnest. It the midst he felt Rick's lips press against his temple… the asshole was kissing him? Stan shrugged it off and continued until the asshole came exploding in a white torrent of goo in Stan's hand.

"Ugh..I'm gonna ways my hands."

"Uh-huh do that."

Stan never said anything about the kiss. He washed off his hands, and when he returned Rick was fast asleep on Stan's bed snoring. It had been a helluva day, he was to tired to kick Rick off. He laid down beside him and soon was asleep himself.


	6. Chapter 6

Stan had just dropped Carla off after another successful date; so far it had been four. He watched her walk towards the house. She turned and blew him a kiss. He pretended to catch it and pressed it to his lips. She smiled at him, turned back and walked into the house.

They'd just put an ad the paper about lottery numbers for a new scheme. He felt like he was on pink fluffy clouds. He drove back to the motel feeling like this, got out of the car humming a tune, and opened the door, still in a romantic haze. Rick was in the room, sprawled out on the bed, wearing nothing but a pair of tighty whiteys.

"Hey Pines, did you fuck her yet?"

"Shut up, Sanchez!"

"So that's a no."

"Hey, she's a lady, and I want to take it slow."

"She ain't lettin' you."

Stan sat down on the bed and blushed. "I just don't wanna. Not yet."

Rick wrapped his twig-like arms around Stan's neck and jerked him backwards. Stan felt Rick's hot, moist breath near his ear. "I know what it is. You never been with a girl before. You haven't had a taste of that sweet, sweet pussy."

Stan pulled Rick's arms off him and sat up. "Yeah, so what does it matter?" He was still blushing.

Rick narrowed his eyes. "Nothin'. Don't get hot under the collar, Pines."

He pulled Stan backwards and kissed him, on the lips. Stan sputtered, but he felt a prickle of lust as he pushed Rick off him. But then Rick leapt, tackling him, and they wrestled on the bed. It was hot in the room, so Stan ripped his shirt off. They struggled together, TV blaring in the background, hot and sweaty.

Eventually, he'd pinned Rick to the bed. Geez, he was hard. Rick was looking up at him, hair a mess, smirking. He pried Rick's legs apart. He unzipped his jeans, pulled off Rick's underwear… then hesitated. What if this was cheating? What if Rick had some VD?

"We gonna do this, Pines?"

Stan looked down at Rick and the lust rose in a wave. He needed to fuck that skinny son of a bitch. He needed to be inside that ass. It wasn't like him and Carla were married. He stripped off his jeans and boxers, gave his cock a pump. Rick got the KY off the nightstand, got ready, put a pillow under his butt... And then Stan was inside him, pumping away.

It felt like flying, so intense, hot and tight and sweetly familiar. Rick's eyes were closed, his hand wrapped around his own cock, jerking it like the end of the world was about to happen. Stan thrust into that pucker fast and hard, driving it home, angling it so it hit that spot inside Sanchez that made the fucker lose control. Stan was leaning over Rick, his hands around the fucker's neck. Rick was mouthing DO IT. He was going harder, faster, Rick was gasping, turning blue, then Stan felt the warmth and heat inside him that meant he was gonna come. He tightened his grip and came hard, cursing himself, the act and Sanchez.

He released his grip on Rick's neck; there were marks. Stan didn't care, he was still hard. He drove it home as Rick's back arched; Rick spewed jizz from his dick and spanish gibberish from his mouth. Stan wondered what ' _ti amo'_ meant, as Rick has spat it out like a curse.

Slumped and spent in the afterglow, Stan slid off of Rick's back and onto the bed. The air reeked of sex. Rick curved himself around Stan, arms over his chest. This was typical. Stan began to drift off to sleep.

Something shifted, in Stan's mind. Rick's weight seemed crushing, the heat of Rick's body suffocating. Stan didn't want Rick there anymore. He loved Carla. He was sure of that, and he didn't want to be tempted by this skinny asshole again. What if Rick had given him some VD? The thought repulsed him. Was he gay? Would his wrist start getting limper, and he start talking with a sissy lisp? NO, he was a fuckin' man! Rick was a whore (so are you, interjected the sensible part of Stan's mind). Rick was all over him, with his clammy hands, his boney sharp angles and his stinking breath in Stan's face. The repugnance and rage boiled to the surface.

Stan got out of bed. Rick slid off of him, waking up a bit. Stan switched on the light, and Rick goggled at him blearily.

"Hey… Pines, what gives?"

"I WANT YOU OUT OF HERE!"

"Wha?"

"IT'S GODDAMN HOT WITH YOU ALL OVER ME! YOU HAVE A ROOM, GO SLEEP THERE!"

"Geez," Rick got up. "No need to be an asshole about it."

"This has to stop, Sanchez. I'm no fag, and I don't need you turning me into one."

Rick glared at him. "So that's what this is about. Y-y-you find some piece of trim, and I get the shove."

"Look Sanchez, yer all right for a queer, but I ain't."

"Your dick says different, Pines."

"Yeah, well… that's biological. I'm not in control of my dick. We can still hang out, but no more of this foolin' around."

Rick raised his unibrow. "Yeah, whatever."

"If you touch me, I'll deck you."

"You try that and I'll fuck you up."

"You leavin'?"

"Yeah, asshole," Rick said and walked out the door, flipping Stan the bird with both hands. The door slammed behind him.

Rick had left his underwear here. Stan kicked it away and took the top cover off the bed. He settled down to sleep, but he could hear the loud, obnoxious noise of Rick's music blasting from the other room. He put his pillow over his head, pulled up his sheets, ignored it, and eventually fell asleep.

It was the third day (night?) after Stan had kicked Rick out of the motel. Stan wasn't sure, because he had kept his eyes closed and pillows over his head. It did not drown out the noise of Rick's music, which was shaking the walls. Rick was listening to "Love roller coaster," and Stan had never hated anything so much in his life. He was sure that was the only record that Rick had been playing for three days. The insomnia openly fueled Stan's now blinding rage as he got up and stomped out the door of his room. It was daytime. He was about to pound on Rick's door when it opened at the slightest knock.

Stan stepped into the room. It was a jumble of machines, metal and the corpse of that monkey, laid out dissected on one of the double beds. One of the walls had been covered with photos, pins, and colored string leading from one to the other. Rick was passed out on the floor underneath, spread-eagled in a lab coat and gray underwear. Drool trickled from his lips. There were empties scattered around him.

Stan found the source of the music and unplugged it. He grabbed a felt tip marker from the floor and leant down to draw on Rick's forehead. That's when Rick yelled and leapt up, a dagger in his hand.

"RICK! It's me, don't kill me!" Stan pleaded.

Rick gave him a squirrelly look, then looked down at the dagger he was holding to Stan's throat.

Rick chuckled and threw the knife behind him. Stan began to laugh, relief settling inside of him.

"You scared the shit outta me, Pines." Rick was still laughing.

"Hahaha, you almost killed me!" Stan was also laughing.

They dissolved into helpless giggling. Rick was leaning on him, and Stan was crying with laughter.

They collapsed on the unoccupied bed, and the laughter trailed off.

"So what's with the wall?" Stan asked.

"I'm putting together the evidence, P-Pines." Rick said and sat up. "That—" He pointed to an image of a college campus: red brick buildings, majestic trees with spreading lawns, all that garbage— "Is Miskatonic university, I never studied there, visited the place. It gave me the jeebies." He pointed below it to a black & white image of a serious lab coat draped man with glasses and dark hair. "—That's the late Dr. West, he invented this serum that… makes things undead, Stan. No pulse, but it moves around. He was murdered in 1920… he was a professor at Miskatonic—" He pointed upwards to the two color photos also linked to Miskatonic. "—That's Dr. Traugott Garber." He pointed to a picture of a white-haired and stern man. "He has West's old post. Also there are rumors he was a Nazi scientist once—" Rick pointed to the photo of a smiling slight man on the right dressed in a tweed suit. "—That's Professor Julius Lebeau. He used to hold West's old post. He was a closeted homosexual. Left in a cloud of suspicion after the undergrad he was screwing attempted to blackmail him and he attempted to strangle the undergrad. The police got involved, and there were files missing after he left. "

"So they're the two main suspects?" Stan asked. "A Nazi and a psychotic homosexual… geez, this makes it hard to pick."

"And both are in the area. Dr. Garber summers nearby, and Lebeau is now working for some biomedical company in Yonkers," said Rick.

"So you have no idea who's doing this?" Stan asked.

"Exactly. But I've narrowed it down," Rick said.

"Are we gonna tail them? Or just rough them up until they confess? I could beat up both of them," Stan said.

"Naw, I'm gonna tail Garber and you can follow Lebeau," Rick said.

"You're gonna take my car, aren't you?" Stan sighed.

"You know it!" Rick said, and pointed his fingers at Stan. "Hey. It'll be in better shape than now."

Stan rolled his eyes. " So I have to take a bus to Yonkers."

"Yep," Rick said with a belch.

Stan didn't know why he agreed to this. He quickly found Julius Lebeau (or rather, the name Rick told him he was hiding under)'s address in the newest edition of the phone book. He followed Lebeau from home, to the little park where he took his lunch, and to his home at night. The man was laying low, as far as Stan could tell. Nothing out the ordinary.

It had been almost a week of following the little squirt and the only interesting thing Stan saw was a family of rats eating a dead pigeon like a Thanksgiving turkey. From what Rick said, he was having no luck with Garber either.

The Ratsgiving made him think of home, and for a brief moment, he felt a pang of something. Then he had a plan: maybe he could seduce the guy into giving him info.

On Friday of that week, he let Lebeau see him as he lounged by the park's public restroom. Hot and young, Stan imagined he looked like a fag's dream. As Lebeau passed him, he stepped in front of the little man and said meaningfully: "You got a cigarette?"

Lebeau gave a small, nervous smile and didn't quite meet his gaze, but said: "Yes I do." He went into the bathroom and Stan followed.

It was dark in there, the only light coming from high slits in the masonry. The smell of pee and stoney dankness filled the air. Lebeau was in front of him. He said: "I'm real sorry, but I owe him."

Stan puzzled over this for a second, then felt a sharp pain in the back of his head. He fell to his knees; someone had tried to knock him out from behind. Well, if they thought they could do that…

And then things went black.


	7. Chapter 7

Stan woke up with a headache he wouldn't wish on anyone. He looked around the room, it was dark, night but light from street was shining through a small high window. He could smell mildew, damp stone and death… he figured it out, a basement. He felt a chill metal under him. He was laying flat on something. Also he'd been stripped to his boxers. He could see the silhouette of a crane necked lamp above him. He reached up and yanked the lamp down, turning a knob on the back, a light so bright it made him squint against it, came to life. When his eyes adjusted he saw he was laying on a metal table in a curtained alcove of the basement. There was equipment nearby on a rolling tray; cruel tools for opening up a person's body and a large syringe containing a glowing green liquid. He felt weird. ' _Okay Stanley don't freak out, no matter what, this freak thinks you're dead…find something to knock him out with.'_ But on the shelves along the wall he could only see glass jars with body parts in them: hands, feet, ears, dead babies with severe deformities, he shuddered. This guy was a creep. He pulled back the sea foam green shower curtain from the alcove... in the dimness he could make out shuffling silhouettes of men. He turned the light on them. He was met with dead eyes in dead faces, lolling mouths and green skin. One of them was Lenny Franks fresh corpse, ligature marks still fresh on his neck. Nearly all were half dressed or naked, some were chained to the walls, others slumped against the floor… all were dead. He heard footsteps near the basement door and hid in a corner. There was crowbar in the corner... good, he grabbed it and waited. The footsteps passed by the door getting fainter. He could hear the babble of voices. He slowly, gingerly made his way up the stairs opened the door a crack and peeked out. He could see a tan and green living room, decorated with furniture from like the 50s. In his view was the corner of a living room, he could see the end of a dark green couch. Rick was sitting on it nervously examining his feet. What in the hell was Rick doing here? Maybe he'd been in on the whole thing! Stan balled his fist and was about to charge the door. That's when the other man spoke:

"So, can I get you some iced tea?"

"Naw," Rick waved him away. "It's okay, Doug,"

The other man stepped into Stan's narrow view, he was tall and thin, dressed in grey, with thinning silver hair and round gleaming glasses. "Are you sure?"

In that moment Stan knew, that was the man in the bar, the one who drugged him.

"Yeah," Rick said. "Look Doug, over the years you and your wife Betty have r-real- really taken me in ya know, taken care of me."

"Thank you, m'boy," said the other man. "You've been like a son to us."

"You are the most brilliant bio-chemist I know," Rick said.

"Not as good as you," Doug said warmly.

"True," Rick got to his feet. "And that's why this is real fucking hard… I tried to tell myself, it was someone else." He pulled out a small shiny gun. "Re-animating these corpses, it had your fingerprints all over it."

"Please, Rick… you're mistaken, put the gun down. See reason, you know me Rick."

"I thought I did," Rick said and continued to aim the gun at Doug. "I thought I did. But then I wondered why the fuck do you have a second home away from Princeton and Betty."

"I practically raised you, Rick." Doug said. "All those times you came to me and Betty when your mother hurt you."

"I fucking didn't want to buy it, so I looked you up in the public records," Rick said. "Arrests for things they didn't have the guts to put in the local papers and the fact you've been shuffled around from college to college…like a-a… fucking christmas fruitcake."

"Rick, you know I'm not a bad man," Doug pleaded. "Until recently it hasn't been easy for men like me… men who love other men to be ourselves or get sent to a mental institution."

"Yeah I know," Rick said. "And that, I could have excused that, but why the fuck did the tracking device I implanted in my friend's neck, lead me here!"

Stan rubbed his neck, he thought it was a just a weird pimple.

"Please don't do this Rick… think of Betty… think of my reputation. I never laid a finger on you. " Douglas Blevins whined "Just let me live… I won't do it again."

"You're going to die you fucker!" Rick yelled and charged. Stan heard a clang and commotion, the gun fired. Then silence. Stan stepped out of the cellar.

"You did it Rick, you got that perv!" Stan said.

But Rick was on the floor his head bleeding, the other man, Doug Blevins was standing over him with a desperate angry look in his eyes and the shiny gun in his hands. Stan felt his heart drop then the anger came Stan charged wishing he had the crowbar. The shot went wide, Stan thought he had him, but no Doug picked up something off the floor and hit Stan squarely in the head. Stan vaguely wondered how much brain damage this would cause or if it would kill….

He was awake, sitting on the floor in a dark corner of the living room. Stan tried to move his arms, and legs, but he couldn't, he felt ropes chafing against his skin. So that Doug creep tied him up? He could reach around and feel the knots, they weren't very tight. He looked across the darkened living room, Rick was there tied to a dining room chair and hadn't come to yet. But then Blevins walked into the room, Stan drooped his head and pretended he was out of it. Doug Blevins strode across the room towards Rick, he was holding a glass of water, splashing it on Rick's face. Rick sputtered and his eyes snapped open.

"So is this the part where you turn me into one of your undead fuck puppets?" Rick said almost bored.

"Hardly," Doug sniffed. "As I said, I've always thought of you like a son. I'm just going to kill you. That's why I'm so disappointed this happened, but first I should explain myself."

Rick gave frustrated sigh."Well I guess I'm stuck here. Okay first tell me how you got Dr. West's old formula was it from Lebeau? Or Garber?"

Doug shook his head and laughed in patronizing manner. "Neither, Herbert West didn't leave a copy of it to Miskatonic. It was among his personal papers, which I inherited as I happen to be his nephew. As for Julius Lebeau he's an old friend, I've known him since I was an undergrad at Tulane. He owed me a favor since I gave him a glowing reference for his current job."

Stan tried to nod at Rick to get his attention but if Rick saw him, he didn't give any sign. So Stan went back to undoing the knots.

Rick sighed. "Nephew?"

"It was on the Maternal side." Doug said. "You are probably wondering why I did it. Well, that goes back a long time, when I was boy I enjoyed dissecting roadkill and other animals. Somehow when I reached my teens, that urge became wrapped up with the taboo attraction I felt towards men….."

Rick was rolling his eyes as Doug kept talking. Stan almost had the knot undone.

"….My first real lover, was a poor youth, after we spent the night together I felt a Sense of uncontrollable panic well up in me. If I was discovered it could jeopardize everything, so I choked him to death. I was living alone at the time and I found myself deeply enthralled by his corpse, when the downstairs neighbors began to notice the stench, I disposed of him at night, wrapping him in a sheet, weighing him down with rocks, and throwing it in the bay… I was so paranoid, so certain I would be caught and my carefully constructed facade would—"

Rick was still looking up at Doug boredly, but It occurred to Stan that Rick was somehow paying attention to this bullshit. The knotted rope came free in his hand.

"…I thought you'd get it Rick. That evil is just a label the weak use to describe the things that they can't understand, things that scare them, that they'd like to do but don't have the guts to act on…."

Now the other knot tying his ankle was even looser, and came apart quickly. Stan was on his feet, neither Rick or Doug heard him quietly grab a wooden chair from the dining room, and with stealth Stan didn't know he had, snuck up behind Doug and slammed the chair into the bastard's head. Doug went down like a ton of bricks. Stan hit him one more time to make sure.

"… My god! He just didn't shut up did he? Yak yak yak yak!" Stan said.

"Cut the commentary, u—untie me," Rick griped.

Stan did so, Rick got to his feet, looked at Doug and found his small shiny gun. He pointed at Doug's head pulled the trigger, there was burst of red light. Doug's body twitched, Stan saw the smoking hole in Doug's head.

"That's what you get! That's what you get!" Rick shouted. Tears were forming at the corners of Rick's eyes.

"Geez, you just killed him. Are you okay?" Stan asked.,

Rick sniffed and wiped his eyes. "Yeah I'm fine. All those years…why didn't he ever try that shit with me? Why couldn't I see him for what he was…why was he so...so…" Rick's eyes teared up, then Rick went green. "…I gotta throw up." And ran into the kitchen. As his friend retched into the sink, Stan found a garage sitting in the back of the house. Luckily there were no creepy re-animated corpses in there. Just a car and what he needed, gasoline. Stan hummed to himself as he poured it all over the floors of the first floor. Rick was…in the house but Stan couldn't….

"Hey Sanchez! C'mere!" Stan said as he held up his lighter.

Rick stumbled up from the basement.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Me? What are you doing?! Eh, never mind… burnie, burnie goes the house of horrors."

Stan flicked his lighter to the gas soaked floor and it caught instantly in a wave of flame.

Rick wasn't moving, instead he was glaring angrily at Stan in the midst of the fire. "Fucking retard!"

Stan couldn't hear him over the roar of the fire. "C'mon!" He grabbed Rick's hand and dragged him out onto the street. The window exploded as flames shot through them. Stan watched for moment. That's when Rick hit him.

"OW! What the fuck?!"

"Why the fuck d-d-d-did you do that, Pines!?"

"Cuz, there were way too many dead bodies in there, I don't want the cops thinking we were tied up in this."

"Don't you realize Herbert West's formula was in there?! Do you know how much some people would pay for that!?"

"You mean the one that makes the dead walk? You wanted that? What is wrong with you?!"

They heard the sirens and ducked into a nearby alleyway.

"Why do you think I even cared about this —"

"Whoa, wait this whole time guys were getting killed and their fucking corpses were turned into…. into sex toys and you JUST wanted to formula?! I thought—"

"Yeah, and now it's ashes because of you."

"Hey, I worked my tail off on this thing! I got drugged, knocked out three times and almost killed and this is how you repay me?!"

"Repay you? What the fuck you want a receipt for this after running around with that floozy!"

"She ain't a floozy! I'm done with you Sanchez…"

"Good, I don't need some dumb fucking hunk of fucking meat dragging me down!"

Stan walked away feeling the rage bubble inside him, he wanted to beat the shit out of Rick, but that's how this started. So he walked away into the darkness, as the sirens wailed. He found his car parked nearby and drove away. When he got back to the motel he checked number 12, Rick's room, all of Rick's things were gone, the room was cleaned out, set up perfectly like the fucker had never been there. It didn't fucking matter. In the weeks that followed the schemes that Carla and him pulled began to work. He started up a business he called Stan Co. and things got serious with Carla. He didn't even think of Rick… even when he and Carla made love for the first time. Even when Carla and him packed their bags hopped in the Stanleymobile and headed out to swindle the country. Even at night when she wasn't there and he was alone... especially not when he was alone.

 **END OF PART I**


End file.
